


Jack Falstaff, Dean of Admissions

by a_t_rain



Category: Henry IV - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2640857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_t_rain/pseuds/a_t_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falstaff interviews scholarship candidates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jack Falstaff, Dean of Admissions

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, this is where my mind goes when I interview scholarship candidates during the same week I'm teaching _2 Henry IV_.

“Where’s the roll?” asked Mr. Shallow, the guidance counselor. “Where’s the roll, where’s the roll?”

“You’re sitting on it, sir,” said Miss Silence, the secretary.

“Right.” Shallow rose and extracted a slightly crumpled roll from the depths of his chair. “Let me see, let me see, let me see.” 

Miss Silence handed him his glasses.

“Oh! There you are, Jack! It’s so good to see you again. Won’t you sit down? The scholarship candidates are waiting outside.”

“Let them come in.” Jack Falstaff, Dean of Admissions at England College, settled his considerable bulk into the counselor’s chair.

The first candidate entered the office. He was a thin, bespectacled youth, suffering from a bad case of acne. “One of our best students,” Shallow said proudly.

“Ah. Ralph Mouldy, is it? And very moldy-looking you are, too. Ha ha! What are your SAT scores?”

Mouldy shuffled his feet. “750 verbal, sir. 800 math.”

“AP classes?”

“Biology, chemistry, English, American history, European history, physics, Latin –”

“Enough!” said Falstaff. “I don’t think you’ll fit in at England College; we don’t speak Latin. Next!”

The next student shuffled in timidly. “Simon Shadow, sir.”

“And what interests you about England College, Simon?”

“I dunno. It’s close.”

“I see. Well, er ... let’s get to know you. Tell me about your family.”

“My father endowed the new athletics field, sir.”

“Did he? Well, Simon, I look forward to seeing you in the fall. Welcome to the class of 2019.”

“Wait a minute,” said Shallow. “Don’t you want to know about his grades or test scores?”

Falstaff waved his hand. “No matter, Bob, no matter. I have a good feeling about that one. Next!”

“Hello, Dean Falstaff. I’m Tom Wart.”

“And why are you interested in England College, Tom?”

“Well, I’ve heard so many good things about the performing arts department. I’m an actor, you see. That is, I want to be one. I played Tom in The Glass Menagerie this spring, and it was, like, the best thing I’ve ever done. Tennessee Williams is amazing! And I like the focus on service learning, because I’m really interested in volunteering. Over Christmas break I went to Honduras to build houses, and I think I might want to join the Peace Corps after I graduate.”

After Wart had finished his interview, Shallow smiled beatifically. “Will you take him, Jack?”

Falstaff shook his head. “He’s already been taken, Bob. That one will never make any money, and I’m not here to recruit starving artists.”

The next student bounced into the office, long hair and short skirt swaying provocatively. “Hey, Dean Falstaff. I’m Frances Feeble.”

“And what do you like to do, Miss Feeble?”

“I’m a cheerleader.”

“A cheerleader?” Falstaff contemplated the girl’s long legs. “Can you show me a cheer right now?”

“Sure!” Frances produced a couple of pompoms from her backpack. “Fight, fight, till you disgorge! God-for-England-and-St.-George! YEAAAHHH England!”

“Excellent!” said Falstaff. “Now, are you as hot in the classroom as you are in your cheerleader’s uniform?”

“I do the best I can, sir. I can’t do anything more.”

“Well said! I think there’s a place for you in the class of 2019.”

Mr. Shallow coughed after the girl had gone. “Excuse me, Jack, but I think you had better know that the best she can do is a 1.3 grade point average.”

Falstaff shrugged. “No matter, Bob, no matter. We want our student body to be well-rounded, and hers certainly is. Next, please!”

“I’m Peter Bullcalf. I play football.”

“‘Fore God, a likely fellow! We’ll take you!”

“I’m poor, sir. I can’t afford the tuition.”

“Never mind that! You’ll get a scholarship. Or loans, or something. You won’t have to pay them back until after you graduate, so it’s pretty much the same as a scholarship. Maybe you’ll be a pro football player by then.”

“Oh, _thank you_ , sir!”

“No thanks needed. No thanks at all. Say hello to Frances for me. Is that the lot of them, Bob? Come on then, let’s get a drink.”

* * *

Henry Lancaster, the vice-president for academic affairs, contemplated the group that had just arrived for freshman orientation and frowned. “Tell me, Jack, whose recruits are these?”

“Mine, Hal, mine.”

“I never saw such an unintellectual-looking lot in my life.”

“Good enough to pay tuition, aren’t they? Food for the coffers, food for the coffers. They’ll fill seats as well as better.”

“That one seems to be reading the course catalogue upside down.”

Falstaff shrugged. “She said she was a business major. They only need to read PowerPoints.”

“That other young man tried to _eat_ the course catalogue!”

“Who? Bullcalf? He was probably hungry. Underprivileged, you know. Aren’t we supposed to be an equal-opportunity institution?”

“Well, yes, but there are limits! Look, if he doesn’t know what the catalogue is for, he’s going to need some major remediation. How is he supposed to do that and play football at the same time?”

“That’s your problem, Hal, I just let them in. You’ll figure out what to do with him, I’ve no doubt that you’re clever enough to work something out. Come, let’s go to dinner.”

* * *

“Our retention rate,” said Lancaster a year later, “is abysmal. Out of one hundred and fifty students you let in last year, _three_ of them are still enrolled, and all of them are majoring in kinesiology. What do you have to say for yourself, Dean Falstaff?”

“Of course, Hal, of course I understand your concern. There’s a simple way to fix that, though. You see –” Falstaff half-rose from his chair, dramatically clutched his chest, turned an alarming shade of purple, and dropped to the floor.

“Good God!” exclaimed Lancaster. He reached for the telephone and dialed 911. “Send an ambulance to the Administration Building! Quickly! I think Dean Falstaff’s had a heart attack or a seizure or something!”

As the ambulance pulled up, Lancaster clutched Falstaff’s hand. “I didn’t mean to alarm you, Jack! We’ll talk about it some other time – after you’re well. Poor Jack! I could have better spared a better man...”

Two strapping paramedics heaved Falstaff onto a stretcher, not without some difficulty, and carried him downstairs to the ambulance.

Falstaff smiled to himself as he settled down on the stretcher and prepared for a nice long nap. His job was safe, at least for now.


End file.
